


For What It's Worth

by fanforfanatic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bickering, Dean Winchester is Loved, Dean Winchester is also Loving, Dean is a Sweetheart, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Kitchen Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, there's a bad metaphor in there too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 14:57:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11255292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanforfanatic/pseuds/fanforfanatic
Summary: You borrow something of Dean's and he is not pleased. You are not pleased that he is not pleased. That's not to say that pleasure isn't derived from the overall situation.





	For What It's Worth

“Aw hell no, sweetheart. That's my best FBI shirt.”

You frown at Dean's exclamation as you cap the milk jug again. _This_ is how he greets you in the morning? “It’s just a shirt, Dean.”

“My best shirt.”

“Whatever. You iron it with beer.”

“That’s not true I only do that with Sam and yo- with Sam’s clothes.”

You roll your eyes and cock a hip against the countertop, leaning into it as you start eating the cereal you just poured yourself.

“Can you change out of it now?”

Your spoon holding hand pauses and your jaw drops in incredulity. “You’re not serious? You’re supposed to find it adorable and, or, sexy that I’m wearing your shirt, you Ass. This response is not acceptable.”

“You’re just not the most graceful so I don’t see you not getting it stained and were leaving for that case later and I want to have it handy. Go put on one of my t-shirts or something if you want,” Dean offers.

You put the bowl back down and throw your hands up, “Unbelievable. And I’m plenty graceful.” You twist to face him, narrowly avoiding toppling over the milk jug. He raises a brow at you. “You’re supposed to want to ravage me. _That’s_ the cliche. I know dating is neither of our fortes but I’m thinking that you should know that at least.”

“Ask nicely.” Dean walks further into the kitchen, finally leaving the doorway.

“What?”

“If you want to be ravaged all you have to do is ask. Nicely.”

“Bite me, Winchester.”

“I can do that too,” he winks.

“Nuh-huh. Too late. The biting opportunity has come and gone. I’m going to go get out of this,” you say, pinching the collar of the shirt.

Dean stops you midway to the exit. His eyes twinkle with mischief like they do every time before he- “Let me help.”

You walk backwards as Dean stalks towards you until you bump into the stainless steel counter. You’re lifted onto it, then, and dropped unceremoniously. Your hands move up reflexively to clutch at Dean’s arms. The metal is cool against your skin but that’s not why you shudder.

“Look at how quiet you’ve gotten,” Dean says, all predator.

You open your mouth to object but the thing is, _you have._

“You’ve got such a smart mouth, babe, but you’re all talk, huh? ‘Cause when I’ve got you like this,” Dean drags you close to the edge of the counter with one sharp tug and your grip on his biceps tightens. “You don’t seem to have any objections.”

The smirk he gives you is gorgeous, of course, but really it pisses you off and you conjure up your best glare. “I-”

Dean kisses you. It’s dirty with lots of tongue and when you moan into it, he smirks against your lips. You’re not even angry about it. You can’t be, not with his hands sliding from your hips to your knees and then back up the inside of your thighs. When they meet fabric, they start undoing the buttons of the dress shirt, working their way further up.

Dean stops after a couple buttons and glides a thumb over your slit, feeling the shape through the now damp fabric of your underwear. He ends the kiss that leaves you breathless and, panting a little himself, raises a brow at you.

“Doesn’t take much to get you going. That must be a testimony to my skills.”

You roll your eyes but decide not to comment. “You wanted me to let you help. Go on and help a girl out, Dean.”

Dean leans impossibly closer. Close enough you can see that his eyes are thin green rings around twin black holes in appearance and in gravitational pull. Close enough that those eyes are all you can see, and his scent seems to stick to your skin. Close enough that you feel completely wrapped in _Dean_.

His voice is a deep rasp when he speaks. “I told you to ask nicely.”

“When have I ever listened to what you tell me to do?”

Dean laughs, “My girlfriend is so smart. Making such a good point.”

“My boyfriend is such a dick. Being incredibly patronizing.”

“All I heard is my boyfriend’s dick is incredible.”

“Who’s your boyfriend?”

Dean laughs again and you’re amazed because it is not one of your better jokes and Dean’s laughing anyway. “I’ll introduce you sometime, but for now…”

You kiss again, a little softer than before but quickly heating up. Your hands are in Dean’s hair, tugging just enough that there’s a bit of rumble in his chest. One of his hands is at the back of your neck, angling your head just right and applying pressure when you get cheeky with your tongue. It’s all distracting enough that you don’t notice Dean moving your underwear to the side until he’s done it. The next time he touches you it’s skin on skin and it has your hips bucking forward.

“I love you like this,” Dean murmurs against your throat when he pulls away to allow you to catch your breath. If the way he’s panting is any indication, it’s so he can catch his own as well.

You mean to ask him _like what, exactly?_ but Dean pushes a now slick finger inside of you and _up,_ nailing the perfect spot on the first go. You don’t have any questions after that, though you’re definitely being noisy.

“Perfect like this,” Dean hums into your skin and it’s part self-satisfied, because Dean has fucking _practiced_ finding that spot inside of you quickly (it was a long night of accidental edging) and he’s proud of his new skill, and part reverent like he means it when he says _perfect_. He is so good to you.

“Fuck, Dean,” you moan, unable to conjure different words.

“Best idea you’ve had all day.” Dean draws his fingers out especially slow.

“And it’s only- _oh fuck_ \- morning.”

“You should have another by lunch.” As though you’re something to be eaten, Dean maneuvers you even closer and takes your lips with his, biting sometimes, just the way you like it.

Tall as he is, he has to lift himself onto the balls of his feet to be at the right height to bring this great idea to fruition. You help him with his jeans, though with both of you trying to undo them, your hands mostly get in each other’s way. The button comes undone eventually, the zipper gets pulled down and Dean tells you to line him up with your entrance.

And you do. And then he pushes in and all you can think is _Dean Dean Dean_. Your forehead falls to his shoulder and you chant, “Dean, Dean, Dean.” He hasn’t even moved yet. He’s just inside of you, filling you up perfectly, but Dean’s presence has always been an overwhelming thing to you.

Then Dean does start moving and your definition of _overwhelming_ changes.

As he thrusts, his shoulders jostle so you bury your face in his neck, wrap an arm around it and another around his waist, wishing he had shed his shirt. Not that you could survive stopping for him to do it now.

The noises you make stain the air and later, weeks from now, years, you’ll hear their echo again. Right along Dean’s because he is the only thing louder than you in this quiet room. That might be your favourite part. The sounds Dean makes. Pretty, vulnerable, little things that contrast sharply with the snap of his hips. And the snap of that thing stretched taut inside of you.

You can already feel it brewing, the release Dean coaxes out of you expertly and clumsily, somehow all at once. It’s like ripples colliding and merging forming a bigger wave each time and Dean is the cause. Dean is the stone at the center that dropped in your waters.

He says your name and that’s a torrent all on its own. “You feel so good. You always do. So fucking good, baby.”

He tugs the collar of your- his- shirt to the side just enough to expose a patch of skin he knows is sensitive. He places a kiss there before sucking purposefully. He keeps it up long enough that you’d know it will leave a mark if you were in a disposition to _know_ anything at all. You’re not, too lost in sensation as you tighten the hold your thighs have on either side of Dean’s body.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Dean says just as you think it, his voice a scratchy rasp that _does things to you_ , yours lost somewhere in spacetime. Or maybe Dean has stolen it, the way he’s taken every part of you and tucked it inside of himself in an effort to keep them safe. To keep them near.

You come silently though your mouth is open and O-shaped, lips pressed into Dean where they can feel the drum of his pulse. Dean follows like his orgasm is chasing yours. The place where your bodies meet becomes the only thing you can focus on.

Later, when you’re both washing up in the shower room, trading glances that alternate between sly and shy (this thing between you is new enough that you both have some modesty left though it’s dissipating quickly), Dean says, “You know, for what it’s worth the shirt looks better on you.”

“You still want me to stop wearing it don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [@wheresthekillswitch](https://wheresthekillswitch.tumblr.com/) and [@emilywritesaboutdean](https://emilywritesaboutdean.tumblr.com/)'s gif-prompt challenge. You can [check it out the gif that was given to me](https://68.media.tumblr.com/0ebcbab08070b7fe035ba3f992059a9e/tumblr_messaging_oox5juCHKM1shdyqc_500.gif/).
> 
> Find me on that [tumblr](https://fanforfanatic.tumblr.com/) shiz.


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